


Seeing Is Believing

by Tanith11



Category: The Streets of San Francisco
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Crime Scenes, Drama, Gen, Murder, Slow Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanith11/pseuds/Tanith11
Summary: Jeannie's life is at stake after stumbling upon the scene of a murder where the suspect is still present. Mike assigns his partner Steve to protect her at all costs until he can track down the vicious killer and end his bloody killing spree. Amid the tension and chaos around them, Jeannie and Steve explore their feelings for one another.





	1. ACT I Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fan fiction piece I wrote for this fandom 6 years ago...and guess what? It's yet another memorable birthday for Mike Stone!

_Residence of Inspector Steve Keller, 1973_

The seasoned Lieutenant sat on the sofa with the morning's paper opened to the sports page.

"Alright, Mike." Young Inspector Steve Keller stepped into the living room, adjusting his maroon tie and then retrieved his desert brown jacket from the back of the recliner.

"Well it's about time! I told you yesterday that I was going to be here early today. You've spoiled breakfast." Lieutenant Mike Stone declared gruffly as he closed the paper and folded it in half. Removing his glasses and stowing them away in his top pocket, Stone reached for his hat on the coffee table and placed it on his head.

"What do you mean I spoiled breakfast? It's still early!" Steve countered.

"Since it's my  _birthday_ , I thought we could try that new diner that just opened up instead of those chilli dogs that have been giving me indigestion!" Mike made careful emphasis on the word birthday.

"Did you just say it's your birthday today?" Steve scratched his head in the pretence that he'd forgotten his partner's birthday.

"Why you!" Mike bounded off the sofa and swatted a retreating Steve on the shoulder with the newspaper.

"Come on, birthday boy, we're going to be late!" Steve called back as he ran out the front door with Mike hot on his heels.

As Steve locked his front door, Mike opened the passenger door of the Ford Galaxy parked out front.

"Hey, I thought it was your turn to drive, Mike!" Steve called out as he reached the driver's door and pulled it open.

"Not today, Buddy boy! You know why?" Mike leaned across his seat as Steve entered the vehicle.

"Don't tell me. It's your  _birthday_!" Steve rolled his eyes at his partner who chuckled. "Do us a favor, will you? Since you're playing passenger, pass us the menu I've got in the glove compartment."

"What menu?" Mike asked dubiously as Steve started the engine and pulled away into the street. He opened the glove compartment and a half empty bag of sun flower seeds fell out, followed by an empty soda can and half a burger. Cringing, Mike reached inside and pulled out an envelope with the word  _Menu_  written across the front in Steve's handwriting. "You gotta be kidding me right? What's this?"

"Just open it, will you!" Steve replied exasperatedly.

Mike pulled out the contents of the envelope and smiled up at his partner. "You got me tickets to the season opener!"

"That's right. Happy birthday, Mike." Steve smiled back. "And you thought I'd forgotten." He shook his head.

"Did I say that?" Mike feigned a look of innocence before replacing the tickets back into the envelope. "Thanks, buddy boy." He smiled warmly.

"You're welcome." Steve replied with a grin.

"Steve." Stone began in a serious tone.

"Yeah."

"If it's one thing I can't stand more than your unhealthy eating habits, it's when they're covering the interior of this car!" It didn't take long for Mike's eyes to travel down to the contents which spilled out onto the floor from the glove compartment. He began berating Steve on his hygiene as they drove down Van Ness Avenue.

* * *

The slender, blue eyed brunette reached for her purse at the check-out of the convenience store. "I also need a bottle of marsala."

"Sorry, Miss, but we're all out. You can try Arnie's two blocks from here." The store clerk replied apologetically.

"Thank you. I best get down there then." Jeannie Stone sighed as she paid the man behind the counter.

"You take care, Miss. It's not a very friendly neighbourhood down that way, if you know what I mean." The shop keeper lowered his voice.

Jeannie nodded uneasily at the storekeeper and thanked him as she carried her groceries in one arm and walked out the store in high spirits.

* * *

A figure lurked in the shadow of the street corner as he lit a cigarette, then walked down the sidewalk, casing out the small stores along the street. He was short of cash and had gone dry for far too long. Today he could use a bottle of whiskey or bourbon to quench his thirst and satisfy the burning craving. The street was part of the slum areas of the neighbourhood and business failed to thrive. Stores were gradually closing down and relocating due to robberies and vandals. As Cain Larson peered into the glass window of Arnie's Convenience and Tobacco store, the tall young man licked his lips. He could almost taste the intoxicating flavors just by staring at the bottles lined up behind the counter inside the store. He put his hands into the side pockets of his faded denim jacket and felt the cool metal casing of the switchblade inside. There was only one attendant in the store.  _Just an old guy. Easy._ He'd made up his mind. He needed a strong drink and more cigarettes and wasn't going to wait until his next welfare check. He pushed the door open, causing the bell above the entrance to tinkle softly. As he casually walked inside the store and began browsing through the aisles, the man behind the counter peered up from the newspaper he was reading and assessed the stranger. Larson looked up and smiled, "Howdy."

"What can I do for you?" the attendant asked courteously.

"A buddy of mine's throwing a party, see. I think I've found something here." Larson held up a can of beans and smirked haughtily. The store keeper nodded with a forced smile and sighed before returning his attention to the paper. Larson took the can with him and banged the bottom of it on the counter top, startling the aging man. "Just the beans, old timer." Larson drawled.

"That'll be fifteen cents." The store keeper entered the amount into the cash register.

Larson let out a low whistle. "They ain't getting' cheaper with the times, are they, old man?"

"I guess not. Is there anything else?" the attendant sighed in irritation at the young lout's smart mouth.

"Let's see. How about a bottle of that bourbon there?" Larson squinted his eyes and pointed at one of the glass bottles lined up on the shelf behind the attendant.

"No problem." The man turned his back on his customer to reach for the bottle.

Larson's smirk disappeared from his face as he dug into his pocket and pulled out the switchblade. In one flash of movement the young, well-built man lunged forward and threw an arm over the old man's head, trapping him in a stranglehold. With his arm firmly locked across his victim's throat, Larson dragged the man back up until his back pressed against the counter. "Don't make a sound or try anything, old timer! Now open that cash drawer nice and slow, no tricks!" Larson grated into the elderly man's ear

The shaken storekeeper tried to nod but he was unable to move his head at all. He reached out his arm and with trembling fingers pushed the button that sprang the catch of the cash drawer. The drawer rolled out and Larson peered over the counter, still maintaining his firm hold. He could see there was enough cash in the drawer to buy him enough drinks to last him a couple of days. "Put your hands up and don't turn around until I'm gone!" Larson growled as he pressed the tip of his knife into the man's back until he drew enough blood to make his point clear. The man winced in pain but did as he was told and slowly raised his arms up above his head. Larson took his arm away from the man's neck and keeping his knife wielding hand trained on the clerk, he used the other to pull out the notes from the cash drawer. When the attendant stole a sidelong glance and saw that his attacker had taken his eyes off him to retrieve the money, anger began to fill his veins. He reached out for the neck of the bottle of bourbon. He was no match for the young man's quick reflexes as Larson saw the action take place from the corner of his eye. He swung his arm across, knocking the bottle free from the man's hand. The glass smashed onto the tiled floor and the pungent smell of bourbon filled the air as the liquid spilled across the floor. Fury fuelled Larson and he grabbed the old man's shirt, pulling him close. "You shouldn't have done that old timer!"

"No please! Take what you want!" The old man raised his hands in a placating manner and pleaded for his life to be spared. Whatever anger he felt before had gone, to be replaced with sheer terror.

"Too late, old timer!" Larson sneered then plunged the blade into the man's midsection, catching him deep below the breastbone. Pulling the knife free, Larson pushed the dying man away from him and sent him crashing against the shelves behind him where bottles of spirits were knocked down and crashed onto the floor. Larson leaped over the counter and placed the knife next to the register as he stuffed all the notes from the drawer into his pockets. A gurgling moan caught his attention and he grabbed the knife off the counter then crouched down over the body of the store attendant who tried to crawl away. Shoving the gravely wounded man by the shoulder, Larson dragged his bloodied blade across the petrified man's throat. The victim's limbs spasmed then grew still as his life ebbed away.

* * *

Hefting her shopping bag onto her other arm, Jeannie Stone checked her watch and quickened her pace. Her bus would be arriving shortly and she didn't want to miss it. It was Mike's birthday and the young college girl wanted to cook him a surprise dinner. She didn't want to be late with her preparations for the evening. As Arnie's Convenience and Tobacco store came into view, Jeannie held the bulging paper bag tightly to her chest and raced toward the glass door. Without peering through the glass, she pushed it open and stepped inside at the same moment a young man rose from behind the counter, a bloody knife held in his hand. The shopping bag dropped from her arm and fell to the ground, spilling its contents as her blue eyes widened in absolute shock and fear. She let out a strangled gasp as her vocal chords refused to co-operate to issue a scream. The man leaped out at her from behind the counter, his knife held out in front of him ready to strike down the unfortunate girl before she could turn around and run out into the street.


	2. ACT I Part 2

**ACT I: Part 2**

Cain Larson had one thing on his mind the moment his eyes met the pretty brunette girl who walked into the store, staring at him wide-eyed. In a state of frenzy and panic, Larson tightened his grip on the switchblade handle and lunged at the girl. She flung her handbag at him, catching him in the face. In that moment of distraction, the girl turned on her heel and ran back out of the store. He could hear her screaming for help as she bounded across the street, attracting attention from pedestrians. He stopped short of the sidewalk as he thought of the ramifications if he chased down the girl. Cursing under his breath, his eyes caught her handbag lying on the ground at his feet. Picking it up, he raced out of the store in the opposite direction from the girl.

* * *

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, San Francisco, 1973_

A knock on the door caught Mike Stone's attention and he looked up from his report to find Roy Devitt at the door with a foreboding look in his eye.

"Mike, there's something you ought to know. There's been a situation at Arnie's Convenience and Tobacco store on Market Street near 6th Street. Jeannie was involved." Devitt announced grimly.

"Jeannie? Is she alright?" Mike asked apprehensively.

"She's fine. She's writing a statement out here at Steve's desk."

"What do you mean she's writing a statement? What happened? Let me talk to her." Removing his reading glasses, Mike placed them on the desk then stood up quickly. His parental reflexes melded in with his cop instincts as his thought process began conjuring all the possible reasons for why his daughter would be at the station issuing a statement.

"Mike, she's okay. I got a radio about a homicide. I was nearby so I headed over there. Healy was first at the scene and had already taken Jeannie's report. Officers Briles and Brown checked Arnie's. The store owner had his throat cut after he was stabbed. It looks like a robbery gone wrong. Cash was missing from the till. Jeannie was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. She had only just walked into the store when she saw a guy holding a knife and he came after her but she ran to a hotel across the street and called for help." Devitt continued.

"Did you get the guy?" Stone asked as he came out from behind the desk.

"No. I'd say he was long gone by the time Healy arrived. Jeannie did give us a good description though. Haseejian's getting the mug books for Jeannie to look through."

Mike wasted not a second longer but headed out of his office with Lieutenant Devitt right behind him.

"Jeannie." Mike called out softly when he reached his partner's desk and saw the college student sitting in front of the desk writing on a piece of paper. At the sound of her name being called, she turned her head and smiled wanly at her father.

"Hey, Mike. I'm okay." Jeannie tried to sound reassuring when she saw the look of concern written all over her father's face.

"What happened? What were you doing in that part of the neighbourhood?" Mike questioned with a hint of urgency in his voice.

"I needed to buy something at Arnie's Convenience store."

"But why there? There are lots of other convenience stores around. I could've driven you after work. What was so important you had to go all the way there?" the words tumbled out of Mike's mouth quicker than Jeannie had time to register them.

"Mike!" Jeannie closed her eyes and held up a hand to forestall her father's barrage of questions. She felt like she was being interrogated and needed Mike to back down and allow her room to breathe.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Mike drew a deep breath and let it out then walked behind his partner's desk. He sat down and asked her in a calmer voice, "Okay, what happened?"

"I got off the bus and I walked into Arnie's. I saw this guy. He…he had a knife in his hand and it was covered in blood! I…" Jeannie's voice trailed off as she bit back a sob.

Mike leaned forward and took Jeannie's trembling hand in his. "It's okay sweet heart, tell me what happened next."

"He saw me! He ran out at me and I hit him with my bag. I got out into the street. There was a hotel nearby. I ran inside and told the barman. He called the police." Jeannie paused to take a swallow though her mouth felt too dry.

Before Mike could say anything, Sergeant Norm Haseejian entered the main office with a set of mug books in his arms. He approached Steve's desk and placed the books in front of Jeannie.

"Let's start with these first." Haseejian suggested.

"Just take your time, sweetheart." Mike assured the shaken girl.

Jeannie nodded and pulled the topmost book from the pile closer to her then flipped open the front cover.

* * *

Tipping out the contents of the fawn colored hand bag onto the ground, Cain Larson rummaged through its contents. Among the collection was a leather purse. Opening the catch, Larson checked the compartments for cash and found five dollars in notes plus loose change. He pocketed the money then turned his attention to the college identification card in the clear compartment of the tan purse. A small photo of the girl who walked in on him, reflected back into his eyes. This time she was smiling. Larson pulled out the ID card and shoved it into his shirt pocket. He continued to rummage through the rest of the contents and found a small, thin book with  _Address_  written on the cover. Picking it up, he flicked through the pages and found a local address written beside the name Mike.  _Boyfriend? Maybe that's why she's here. Never seen her around before._ Larson thought. He stowed the book into his pocket then rose to his feet from his crouched position and walked out of the alley.  _I think little miss college girl and I should get reacquainted._

* * *

Rubbing her eyes to clear her blurring vision, Jeannie sighed and continued to study the black and white stills in the last mug book on the desk. A glass of water was placed in front of her; the second refill she had since she arrived at the station. Looking up, she thanked Haseejian who smiled in return. The SFPD Sergeant stepped back and folded his arms as he perched himself on the edge of the desk behind him. Mike Stone could see the toll his daughter was subjected to as she searched for the mug of the man who tried to attack her at the convenience store in the seedy South of Market area. An area Mike had cautioned her about on more than one occasion but he knew now was not the time to give her a hard time on it. She was dealing with enough strain and the last thing she needed was for her father to lecture her.

"Let's take a break." Mike announced suddenly.

"No, I want to get this done and over with. Please, Mike." Jeannie gazed into her father's eyes and a look of understanding passed between them.

"Okay." Mike relented.

Several more minutes passed and just when Jeannie's concentration began to lapse, she drew a sharp intake of breath as her soft blue eyes locked themselves on the same predatory stare that left her insides feeling as cold as ice, back at Arnie's convenience store.

"M-Mike. It's him. It's him!" Jeannie gasped as she pointed at the sneering face of the man she encountered and fled from.

Mike pulled the book away from Jeannie and turned it to face him. "Cain Larson." He read aloud. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! I remember those eyes looking at me." Jeannie replied fervently, her own eyes still staring at the book in Mike's hands.

"Listen to me, sweetheart. He's not going to get anywhere near you again. I won't let that happen!" Mike drilled as he passed the book over to Roy who gave Larson's mug a once over.

"I'll get the book on him Mike." Lieutenant Roy Devitt offered as he rose from the seat beside Mike.

"And I'll get an APB out." Haseejian chimed in as he straightened and unfolded his arms then headed to his desk.

"Until that man is locked away in a cell, you're going to wait right here in my office until Steve gets back. I'm going home to pick up some of your things and then you're going to be staying with Steve at his place, is that understood?" Mike declared as he looked his daughter in the eye emphasizing he was not backing down from his proposal.

"Why can't I come home with you?" Jeannie asked in a low voice. She liked Steve and considered him a good friend but this was one of those times she wanted no one else but Mike at her side. She also knew how her father could be and it worried her more when he was out there on the beat hunting down a dangerous criminal to protect her from harm.

"Because I'm not coming home until Larson is behind bars!" Mike vowed.

Jeannie knew by the tone in his voice and the determination in his eyes that Mike meant every word he said.


	3. ACT II Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early Easter treat! Wishing everyone a Happy, Safe and Blessed Easter holiday!

**ACT II: Part 1**

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, San Francisco, 1973_

It wasn't long before Inspector Steve Keller arrived at headquarters and was briefed by his partner about the homicide and robbery of Arnie's Convenience and Tobacco store. The worry etched on Mike's face was mirrored on Steve's and it made Jeannie's nerves all the more unsettled; so much so the young college girl began to pace her father's office which seemed a lot smaller to her than usual. Noticing her restlessness, Mike motioned for Steve to pause in his tracks. "Jeannie, sweetheart?" Mike called out softly though the girl's thoughts were too preoccupied she failed to notice that the room fell silent. She continued her pacing as she gazed at the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Hey, Jeannie." Steve reached out an arm and caught her about the shoulders gently. "You okay?" He peered into her face as she looked up, a little startled at how lost in her own thoughts she realized she was. She turned her head and saw Mike also gazing at her as if she was about to break.

"I'm fine. Really." Jeannie replied as she forced a small smile to play on her face.

"Sweetheart, we're almost done. Why don't you wait by Steve's desk while Steve and I wrap things up here?" Mike stepped up to Jeannie and took her gently by her elbow then led her out of the office. He watched her walk slowly to Steve's desk until she settled herself in the chair then he closed the door to his office and turned to his partner.

"She's pretty shook up." Steve commented.

"The last time I saw her like this was a few months ago when Leonard Cord was out."

"Yeah, I remember. Let's hope we can put this Larson guy away before it gets to the point where she sees him everywhere she turns." Steve rubbed the back of his neck as he felt his muscles growing stiff from the tense recollections of the past.

"Steve." Mike began darkly.

"What is it, Mike?" the young Inspector's attention was immediately raptured by his partner's tone.

"I need you to keep her safe. Don't let her out of your sight!"

"Mike, she's coming home with me remember? Nothing's going to happen to her."

"I know that, buddy boy. It's just that I can't shake this feeling I have about Larson. I don't know, maybe I haven't gotten over what happened with Cord. I'm going to tell you one thing I do know, Steve. I'm not going to stop looking for Larson until he's locked away!" Mike asserted.

"Mike, I'll never let anyone hurt Jeannie. You know that. But I'm also worried about about you and what you're about to do to yourself." Steve carefully replied as he studied Mike's deeply troubled features.

"What are you saying? That I shouldn't be out there doing everything in my power to bring Larson in?" Mike responded with a touch of heat entering his voice.

"Come on, Mike, that's not what I meant."

"Then what  _did you_  mean?"

"I just don't want to see you run yourself into the ground! How many times have you told me not to let my personal feelings get in the way of my better judgement? I'm not the only one who can see how much this is affecting you. The last thing that Jeannie needs is her father blowing his cool and taking unnecessary risks to his life or losing focus from exhaustion. Think about it, Mike! Don't do this on your own. Get Tanner, Lessing and Devitt to help you. The whole department is behind you." Steve persisted to bring his point across, in the hopes that his partner would come to his senses. He knew Jeannie meant the world to him and that she felt the same way about her father. To see Mike on the verge of committing himself in such an ardent way so early in the investigation triggered Steve's own protectiveness toward his mentor.

An awkward silence befell them before Mike sighed and nodded slowly. "How did you get to be so smart, hot shot?" A weary smile broke out across the older detective's face and Steve breathed out a sigh of relief that he had not over stepped any boundaries.

"I learned from the best." Steve replied, the pride creeping into his voice was palpable.

"Alright, you got me. I'll talk with Rudy and see how many men the department can spare to work with me on this. In the meantime, take Jeannie over to your place and stay there. I'll come by later tonight."

Steve nodded and turned to leave when Mike's voice caused him to stop in midstride.

"Steve."

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"Anytime, Mike. Oh, before you go, would you pick up a couple of pizzas on your way over?" Steve added the latter as an after-thought.

"Don't you have anything decent at your place? Besides I might not be around until late." Mike's jibe faded as his mood darkened once more.

"I'm just kidding, Mike. Jeannie wanted to make you something special for your birthday tonight. She invited me over. I thought maybe for her sake since her dinner plans are already ruined, you could at least get to my place at a decent hour. If you don't find Larson by then, you won't find him by running around blindly in the dark. He'll be holed up somewhere. Even criminals gotta have some shut eye." Steve reasoned quietly.

"You're really scaring me now, you know that? You've been holding out on me, buddy boy, with all this knowledge pouring out of you today." Mike shook his head in mock disbelief as he placed his hand on Steve's shoulder and walked him out of the office.

At the sound of Mike's and Steve's voices, Jeannie wheeled around in her seat then stood up.

"Alright sweetheart, you go on along with Steve. I'll come around later on." Mike took Jeannie by the shoulders and pulled her into a quick hug.

"Okay, Mike. I guess we'll see you around dinner time, right?" Jeannie worded her question with the intention of convincing her father to call it quits before he over worked himself.

"Okay." Mike reluctantly answered in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice. He smiled ruefully and as he watched Steve and Jeannie make their way out of the main office, noticing that his daughter didn't have her handbag on her. He glanced quickly over at Steve's desk and saw it wasn't there either. "Jeannie!" He called out as he walked briskly toward the duo.

"What is it, Mike?" Jeannie asked as she turned around to face her father.

"Did you have your bag with you when you came in?" Mike asked seriously.

For a brief moment Jeannie stood in silence as her eyes scanned Steve's desk before she came to the sudden realization that she had not seen her handbag since her run in with Larson. "I must have dropped it when I hit that man!" she gasped.

"Did you have anything in there that could identify you?" Mike asked.

Jeannie nodded apprehensively. "My college card with my photo on it was in my purse. It has my name and college address on it. I can't believe I didn't realize until now! Do you think he took it with him?"

"I don't know sweetheart. Maybe one of our boys took it to the lab. I'll talk to them." Mike tried to sound reassuring. "I'll call if it turns up."

Jeannie nodded nervously then leaned forward and gave Mike a kiss on the cheek.

"What was that for?" Mike grinned.

"Be careful, Mike." Jeannie whispered.

Mike nodded, touched by Jeannie's concern. "I'll see you kids later." He quipped with a wink at Steve. He waited until the two most important people in his life left the main office before making his way to meet with the SFPD captain.

* * *

_Residence of Steve Keller, 1973_

Sliding the key into the lock of his apartment, Steve Keller opened the front door then stepped to one side as he gestured for Jeannie to enter before him.

"It's a little untidy but make yourself at home." Steve smiled warmly.

"It's not really all that bad, Steve." Jeannie assessed as her eyes scanned the interior of Steve's home. Apart from an opened soda can and some sports magazines strewn on the coffee table in the living room, Jeannie had always imagined Steve's home to be messier. She wasn't sure why she thought that way but she just did.

"You'll be sleeping in my room and I'll take the sofa." Steve led the way down the hall until he reached his bedroom. Since he fell asleep on the sofa the previous night, Steve wasn't too concerned about whether or not he had time to make his bed that morning. "You can put your things anywhere you like. I have a couple of empty drawers next to the bed you can use." Steve purposely neglected to mention that he deliberately left those drawers empty in case he had company staying the night. Though his job more often than not got in the way of his pursuing romance in his life, he did date on occasion. While he had known Jeannie since they were kids, he always felt uncomfortable sharing certain information with her. Dating was one of them. "Bathroom's on the right down the hall."

"I know, Steve. I came over with Mike for Thanksgiving, remember?"

"Right. I forgot. Anyway, I'll be in the kitchen. Are you hungry? Can I get you a drink?"

"Some orange juice if you've got some, would be great. I'll just wash up."

"Sure." Steve put Jeannie's travel bag down by the door then left her to unpack.

* * *

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, San Francisco, 1973_

Lieutenant Mike Stone stood in front of Rudy Olsen's desk, waiting for the Captain to disengage from the telephone.

"Sorry about that, Mike." Olsen sighed after he hung up. "Are you sure you're alright handling this case? I'd feel a lot better if you got Devitt or Tanner to take it, particularly since Devitt has been to the crime scene and took Jeannie's official report."

"I have to take this case, Rudy. Please, I'll be okay." Mike looked Olsen in the eye, hoping he wouldn't be taken off the case.

"She's your daughter, Mike. Not only am I going against my better judgement but I'm also pulling a lot strings by letting you take the case."

"Come on now, Rudy. Don't you think I know all that? Why do you think I got Steve to take Jeannie to his place and not back to mine? I'm not going to lie to you. The thought that a murderer is out there with Jeannie's face imprinted on his mind scares me like you wouldn't believe but I'm not going to let that get in the way of my responsibilities. Because I know losing my head won't help Jeannie."

Convinced by the senior detective's argument, the SFPD Captain nodded. "Alright, Mike." A knock on the door diverted both men's attentions. "Come in." Olsen called out.

The door opened revealing Lieutenant Roy Devitt carrying a folder in his hand. "I got Cain Larson's records." Stepping into the office, Devitt handed the file to Mike who opened it and began to pore over the contents.

"Breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal firearms and the list goes on from juvenile delinquent to hardened criminal." Devitt explained when he saw Mike struggled to read the fine print without his glasses. "By the time he was seventeen he had already been arrested and charged three times for a string of offenses including mugging, assault and a car-jacking. He's been more or less clean for the last year and a half since he was released from San Quentin after serving five of an eight year sentence for grievous bodily harm and armed robbery. He beat and stabbed the attendant at an all-night gas station and got away with a measly amount in cash. The victim survived, but barely. She was lucky a truck pulled in for gas. Larson took off out the back door."

" _She?"_  Mike choked on the word as an image of his daughter's battered and bloody body emerged in his mind.

"Mike," Olsen started when he saw Mike's face drain of color.

"I'm fine, Rudy." Mike stated before turning his attention back to Devitt. "Do we have an address?"

"We did. He lived at a run-down hotel room until this morning. Tanner just got off the phone with Mr Grimes, the hotel manager. Larson hasn't been keeping up with the rent and got into an argument with Grimes yesterday who collected the keys from him this morning." Devitt detailed.

"Okay. Maybe someone on the streets can tell us where we can find him. Rudy?" Mike gave Olsen an enquiring look.

"Go ahead, Mike. I've said my peace."

"Let's go." Mike said as he led Devitt out of Olsen's office.

* * *

_Residence of Steve Keller, 1973_

Looking into the refrigerator, Steve let out a low whistle.  _Great, just great._ He mentally kicked himself for being too lazy to restock on everyday means.

"Steve?" Jeannie's voice pulled the young man's head from the fridge. "You know how I wanted to do something for Mike tonight? I was thinking of cooking up a storm. At least it'll keep my mind off what happened today."

"You know what? I think that's a terrific idea but we have one small problem."

"What's that?"

"I don't think I have all the ingredients you need to make your chicken Marsala. As a matter of fact I don't even have chicken or Marsala." Steve let out a nervous laugh. He felt himself go red in the face and his stomach squirmed with embarrassment at the thought that he was failing on being a good host to his best friend's daughter.

The corners of Jeannie's mouth twitched as she tried to hold back the laughter that threatened to surface. A short giggle escaped followed by another to be joined by Steve's chuckling. "Okay, Steve. What  _can_ we make for Mike?"

"Let's see." Steve poked his head back into the fridge and assessed the scant contents. "How about omelettes?"

* * *

_Residence of Mike Stone, 1973_

The rock shattered the glass, creating a jagged hole just large enough for Cain Larson to carefully squeeze his hand through and unlock the window. Pulling his hand back out, he unwrapped the material that shielded it from the glass shards then stowed the handkerchief into his pocket. He pushed the window open and crawled inside the Mike's home.

Larson had studied the address book he retrieved from the young girl's bag and found the addresses of two people who lived locally. One was listed as  _Mike_ and the other  _Steve._ Since she had not written in their last names, Larson assumed one of them could be a boyfriend or member of her family. Someone she could be staying with.

As he crept across the kitchen floor, Larson kept his ears trained for any noise issuing within the house or out on the driveway. His eyes darted in every direction but after a quick sweep of all the rooms, he found that no one was home. Wondering into the living room, the young man found an assortment of photo frames housing a grey haired man, a younger man with light brown hair and the girl he sought. He could now see the similarities between the older man and the college girl and deduced that he could be her father. Larson noted that the younger man was not seen in any of the photos alone with the girl. Since he bore no resemblance to her or the other man, the crook decided he was not related to them. As Larson continued to inspect the room, his eyes zeroed in on a wooden plaque hanging above the television set. The name  _Lieutenant Michael Eugene Stone_  was etched on the silver plate as well as the message beneath which read,  _Twenty-Five Years Of Service With The San Francisco Police Department._  Larson's hatred for the law had burned a hole in his very being and twisted his insides. Breathing heavily, he grabbed the plaque and tore it from the wall then threw it across the room. As the rage flowed through his veins, the young man kicked the television set over, smashing the screen. He proceeded to rip the photo frames from the walls and threw them on the ground, breaking the glass. All through the house, Larson vented his frustrations and lashed out in fury, breaking, smashing and demolishing anything within his reach. He pulled open drawers and rummaged for cash and valuables, turning out the contents without a care. When there was nothing left to destroy, Cain Larson stood in the middle of the hall, breathing hard and fast.  _Maybe I'll just wait right here for you and your daddy to come home._


	4. ACT II Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone had a lovely Easter holiday! Posting for the first time on my phone so not sure how formatting will be and apologies in advance if it is unreadable but will fix when I get home.

_Residence of Steve Keller, 1973_

After killing time with small talk for the better part of the afternoon, Steve found that the silence filling the gaps became intolerable for the both of them. The sky was darkening outside and the clock ran down the minutes and hours. Finally, Jeannie timidly asked Steve if he'd mind her commandeering his kitchen. Steve's enthusiasm was a mark of his immense relief that they'd be doing something other than sitting idly and waiting, forcing mindless conversation. The ritual of preparing omelettes resulted in some much needed laughter. As Jeannie beat the eggs, the telephone rang shrilly bringing them back to the nervousness of reality. Jeannie froze where she stood, the yolk dripping on to the floor from the fork. Steve wiped his hands dry on the dish towel, gave Jeannie a faint smile, then rushed to the phone in the living room. Picking up the receiver carefully after letting it ring one more time, he stayed silent until he could hear Mike's voice on the other line.

"It's just me, buddy boy."

"It's about time you called." Steve's quip sounded strained even to his own ears.

"Is everything alright? How're you two holding up?"

"Not bad, considering. How about you? How are things on your end?"

"Okay, the word out on the street is that Larson likes to cruise the bars along Mission and Market. Though he usually keeps to himself, I spent some time talking with one of the bar tenders and according to him, Larson was seen threatening a patron with a switchblade three nights ago over some trivial matter. I spoke to Doc earlier and got a read out of the autopsy report on Arnold Crane. His wounds were consistent with those made by a switchblade. For someone who is well known around the bars in the area, no one can tell me if they've seen him since this morning. The way I figure it is people are scared. Even the bartender I spoke to clammed up real quick as soon as he saw the news broadcast of the murder on the TV." Mike updated his partner on his findings.

"Is it possible he skipped town right after he left the store?" Steve proposed uncertainly.

"He has no money and no wheels. Unless he hitched a ride out, he's somewhere out there, holed up, waiting for an opportunity to strike out at his next victim. The more I read about him, Steve, the more I'm convinced that until he is safely locked away behind bars, we're going to be looking at more victims real soon. He's volatile and violent to the extreme."

"Did the guys at the lab find Jeannie's purse?" A pause on the other end of the line confirmed Steve's thoughts. "Mike?"

"They haven't found it, yet. But they did find something that really drives it all home. Larson's prints covered the place including those smeared in the victim's own blood all over the cash drawer." Mike paused then before Steve could respond he added, "Steve, knowing Jeannie, she'll be asking you questions the moment you get off the phone. She doesn't need to know the details. In fact, it's probably best you don't tell her anything unless you have to."

"Right." Steve sighed in dismay and ran his fingers through the waves of his light brown hair. He felt uneasy about lying to Jeannie but at the same time he agreed with Mike. Why worry her more?

"Listen, buddy boy, I'm going to be another couple of hours before I can get to your place. I'm back at the office, waiting on some phone calls. Do us a favor, will you? Tell Jeannie not to wait for me."

"She'll ground you, you know that right?" Steve's attempt to lighten the mood failed to deliver.

"Yeah, I know." Mike responded in kind.

Steve ended the call and returned to the kitchen to find Jeannie hastily cleaning up the sticky yellow droplets from the floor. She looked up at Steve with a questioning look in her eyes.

"Was that Mike?"

"Yeah. He called to say that he may not make it for dinner. He said that we should go ahead without him."

"I guess I should be used to it by now." Jeannie straightened and walked over to the sink to rinse out the cloth she held in her hands.

Not sure what to say, Steve followed Jeannie and rested his hands on her shoulders. He could feel the tension in her stiff muscles as she turned on the tap, ignoring his presence. "Hey, it's going to be okay. He'll be home before you know it." He whispered then gently kneaded Jeannie's shoulders, working out the knots that gathered. He smiled to himself as he felt her relax beneath his touch.

"Steve?" Jeannie murmured.

"Hmmm."

"You know in all the years I knew you, you never did tell me why you decided on becoming a cop."

"You never asked."

"Well, I'm asking now. Why?" Jeannie turned off the tap then tilted her head towards him.

"Well, it's kind of a long story."

"How about the cliff's notes version?"Jeannie smiled.

"Okay. I guess you could say that Mike inspired me. At the time when the idea first appealed to me, I was still undecided whether I wanted to become a cop, a lawyer or a teacher. My father was always against the idea of me taking up law enforcement. He said that I was too smart to go wasting my life on some good for nothing, dead end job. He told me that the life of a cop was like having no life at all. Anyway, I don't really know what drove me to decide when the time came. Sometimes I wonder if a part of me made my choice out of anger for my father's ignorance. It's strange because I always idealized him throughout my childhood until just before I reached senior year. I remembered I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Successful, happy, married, you name it. But you know what? My father never gave me the time of day. He was always too busy to take me out to see a game or even to go out on a fishing trip. He was either out on some business trip interstate or playing golf. Mom tried to get him to pay more attention to me but the arguments were just not worth the emotional stress and eventually she just accepted it." Steve paused to swallow as the memories came flooding through him. "I came to realize that Mike spent more time with me than my father ever did. He took me to see the ball games and he took me fishing. It was ironic because in reality it was my father's career that took over his life, not Mike's. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to become just like Mike and the more rebellious I became towards my father. He blamed Mike when I told him I was going to be a cop. It's been years since they last spoke to each other."

"I'm sorry." Jeannie said quietly as she turned to face him squarely and took his hands in hers.

"It's all in the past now. I have no regrets over my decision. Being a cop has opened up my eyes to the world. Whether or not I'll be a cop for the rest of my life, I don't know. Right now, this is where I belong. It's where I want to be." Steve finished his reminiscing with a smile as he looked into Jeannie's startling blue eyes and gave her small hands a squeeze.

A knock on the front door startled the two young companions and both swivelled their heads in the direction of the noise. The knocking grew more urgent and louder.

"Wait here." Steve instructed then let go of Jeannie's hand and made his way out of the kitchen toward the front door.

Jeannie tentatively wondered out into the hall, watching Steve's retreating back. Goosebumps formed along the length of her arms and she rubbed at them with subconscious awareness.

* * *

_Residence of Mike Stone, 1973_

Sitting in the recliner in the darkening room, Larson drummed his restless fingers on the arm rests. He looked at the clock high up on the wall ahead of him and breathed out heavily. The hour and minute hands had crawled in a semi arc down the face of the clock in almost unseen movements as the seconds ticked away like a time bomb. Where the hell are they? Patience was not a virtue Larson ever had nor would he try to embrace it. The longer he waited, the more his impatience grated at his nerves until beads of glistening sweat broke out along his hair line. As the moisture began to accumulate he could feel the droplets running down his stubbled face. When finally the waiting proved beyond unbearable, Larson shot to his feet and wiped the perspiration from his face with is hands before rubbing his fingers on his shirt to remove the residue that covered them. Breathing rapidly in vexation, he paced the perimeter of the living room until his brown eyes fell on the telephone which lay on the floor beside the table. He bent down, picked up the phone and the receiver then placed it back on top of the table. An idea formed in his mind and he quickly acted upon it. Shoving his hand in his shirt pocket, he withdrew the small red book and rifled through the pages until he found what he was seeking. Holding the page down between his thumb and fingers, he snatched up the receiver of the telephone and dialled the number written on the page beside the name, Steve.

* * *

_Residence of Steve Keller, 1973_

When Steve Keller reached his front door, he drew back the lock slowly then placed one hand firmly on the door to allow him to slam it shut should he need to. Bracing himself, he pulled it open slowly.

Jeannie Stone's curiosity got the better of her and she found herself creeping down the hall towards the front door. She gasped as she passed the living room and heard the phone ring. In between the urgent ringing, she could hear Steve's voice faintly in the background talking to someone at the door. It didn't sound like trouble was at his doorstep and figuring that Mike was probably calling, Jeannie wandered into the living room and picked up the telephone. The last thing she wanted was for her father to worry if no one answered.

"Hello?" Jeannie spoke into the mouthpiece. When no reply issued she repeated herself. She knew someone was on the other line for she could hear the sound of breathing against the mouthpiece.

"Is this Jeannie Stone?" The voice finally asked.

"Who-may I ask who this is?" Jeannie's heart began to pound a faster rhythm as she tried to make out who the person was. Was it someone she knew but couldn't recall?

"This is Officer Wilkins. I need to speak with Miss Stone. It's about her father, Lieutenant Mike Stone. He's taken a fatal gunshot wound and I need to locate his daughter." The unfamiliar voice of a man on the other line froze Jeannie on the spot as she gripped the receiver tightly for fearing of dropping it. "Miss, are you there?"

"Y-yes. I'm Jeannie Stone. You said my father was…was shot?" Even as the words left her mouth and she heard them spoken, Jeannie could not feel her lips as numbness overtook all the feeling she had in her body. Her chest tightened and each breath was agonizingly hard to take. She stood rooted to the spot.

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head as he tried to rid the salesman from his front porch. He distinctly thought he heard the telephone ringing in the background and decided enough was enough. He dismissed the man one last time then closed the door on the salesman's annoyed face before locking it. The phone had stopped ringing and as he strained his ears he could hear Jeannie's voice nearby. Panic entered through his system and he cursed under his breath as he raced to the living room and saw the young girl holding the phone tightly in her hand, her face deathly pale and her eyes wide with shock. Not wasting another second, Steve leaped forward and pried the phone receiver away from her. Placing it to his ear he listened for the voice of the caller on the other line.

* * *

_Residence of Mike Stone, 1973_

Larson felt satisfaction settling in the pit of his stomach hearing the fear and panic in the girl's voice. He licked his lips after a short pause before continuing, "Are you alone, Jeannie? I can come by and pick you up. I'll take you to him."

"Who are you? Is that you Larson? Every cop in the district is out there looking for you! So why don't you just turn yourself in?" A man's voice emanated from the ear piece and Larson's blood began to boil once more. He slammed down the receiver hard then yanked the cord out out of the wall socket before hurling the phone across the room.

Breathing heavily, Larson looked down at the page in the address book and memorised the street name and number of the house then he stowed the book away. Retrieving his jacket from the back of the recliner, he left the house and began to devise a way to get to Jeannie Stone as fast as he can. First he needed a set of wheels. Easy.

* * *

_Residence of Steve Keller, 1973_

Steve listened until the line went dead then he carefully replaced the receiver. He reached forward and took Jeannie by the shoulders. "Jeannie, did you know who that was?"

"He said he was Officer Wilkins. He told me that Mike was shot! Oh God Steve! That's why he isn't back yet!" The hysteria had taken hold over Jeannie as she clung to Steve's arms and began to hyperventilate.

"Easy Jeannie, easy. Look at me. Look at me! Now, I'm willing to bet my badge that was Cain Larson on the other line. He was trying to scare you into telling him where you are! Just calm down. I'll call the office and get a hold of Mike. He told me he was waiting for some calls so how can he be shot down? Think about it Jeannie. It's not possible." Steve held Jeannie's gaze until she relaxed in his grip and nodded. After he released her, Jeannie wiped the tears that streaked her face as Steve picked up the phone and dialled the direct line to his partner's office. The phone rang out and he tried again. No answer. Alarm bells began to ring in his mind. Hanging up, he dialled Captain Rudy Olsen's number.

"Olsen, SFPD."

"Rudy, is Mike around? I can't reach him on his private line."

"No, he left about a half hour ago. He said he was calling it a night. Is everything alright?" Rudy asked as he could hear the seriousness in the Inspector's voice.

"No. Someone just called and Jeannie got to the phone before I could. The caller identified himself as Officer Wilkins and told her Mike was shot."

"What? Wilkins was transferred to LAPD four years ago. You don't suppose the caller was Larson do you?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I'm positive." Steve affirmed his suspicions.

"Have you tried calling his home?" The SFPD Captain asked with growing concern for the well-being of his Lieutenant.

"No, I'll do that now." Steve replied then ended the call and dialled Mike's number. No dial tone. Nothing. A dead line. Steve turned away from Jeannie to keep the worry etched on his face concealed from her. He dialled Rudy's number again.

"Rudy, can a couple of the guys drive over to Mike's? I can't reach him. Something's wrong with the phone." Steve tried to keep his tone indifferent to protect Jeannie from hearing the panic that crept into his voice, while at the same time he also needed Rudy to know that he believed Mike could be facing dangers they hadn't anticipated.

Sensing something was wrong and that Steve was not in the position to discuss it with Jeannie around, Olsen read the hidden meaning, loud and clear. He had tried to get contact Mike after the first phone call from Steve but the Lieutenant was not responding to his car radio. Feeling slightly edgy himself, Olsen replied, "I'll send for a back-up team over to Mike's right away and I'll also send out a dispatch to all units. He wasn't answering his radio."

"Thanks." Steve hung up and stepped up to Jeannie. He wrapped his arms around her and held her trembling form. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Where is he, Steve?" Jeannie cry was muffled against his shirt.

"He's on the road. The guys are sending a dispatch to locate him."

"You mean they don't know where he is? Did they try to radio him?"

"He's not responding."

"Steve, we gotta go find him! He could be hurt or in trouble!" Jeannie pleaded as she pulled out of Steve's arms and looked him in the eye.

"No, we can't go out there. That could be exactly what Larson wants. I gave my word to Mike I would keep you safe and I intend to do just that. I know it's hard but we have to sit tight and wait. There's a back-up team on their way over to Mike's right now." Steve could see the fretfulness written on Jeannie's face as he told her the fate of her father was out of their hands. A sense of hopelessness cascaded over him and he felt like his hands were tied behind his back. He knew he could get to Mike's quicker than back-up could but to do that would place Jeannie's life in harm's way. There was no way he would leave her at his place all alone and taking her with him was out of the question. Faced with the only option available, Steve sighed in resignation and perched himself on the arm of the sofa as his eyes followed Jeannie's pacing of his living room floor.


	5. ACT III Part 1

_19_ _th_ _Street, San Francisco, 1973_

For Cain Larson, life kicked him in the teeth and now he was hell bent on punishing those responsible for rubbing salt into his wounds.  _The girl. The cops. Anyone in my way._  Abandoned by his parents at a young age, he fended for himself in any way he saw fit. Perhaps it was the alcohol that caused him to bounce back on the unemployment benefits time and time again or maybe it was the juvenile records? Whatever the case, Larson had the world to blame. He had no friends, no one to call family, no one to warm his bed and no place to call home. Just  _me, myself and I_. He thought bitterly as he walked briskly down 19th Street. The breeze picked up and he zipped his jacket to shield him from a cool front. It was getting late into the night as the street was deserted. Larson needed a set of wheels. He cased the houses that lined the side walk and kept an eye out for a decent car to get him to where he needed to be.  _Bingo! Well I'll be damned!_ Slowing his pace, Larson watched a young man walk out of a house and head to his car parked on the curb.  _A Mustang_.  _That'll do._  Sneering, the crook shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket then strolled casually over to the young blond youth.

"Hey man, where you heading? I could use a ride. My car broke down and I don't fancy walking all the way back home to my missus," Larson gave a wink as he confidently approached the unsuspecting individual.

"Uh, sorry buddy but I don't make it a habit of picking up strangers, no offense." The young man rubbed the back of his neck nervously after recovering from his initial surprise.

"No problem," Larson shrugged and smiled coolly. He made to keep walking then rolled his eyes and asked, "Hey you gotta light, buddy?"

"Sure," the young man's face broke into an uneasy grin then reached into his jeans pocket for his lighter. That one moment of distraction and Larson's calculated timing to close in on the unfortunate soul brought time to a standstill. In one fluid motion Larson had buried a switchblade in the young man's gut.  _Bet he didn't see that one coming!_ The blade was driven deeper until the hilt struck the sternum. Twisting and cutting through vital organs and major blood vessels, Larson's frenzied attack ended when he wrenched the blade out of his victim's body. The youth's blue eyes widened as he let out a single strangled gasp of agony and sheer terror before he crumpled on to the driveway. Larson knelt down and quickly wiped his blade on the victim's shirt then rifled through his pockets. A set of car keys and a wallet bore the fruits of his search. He emptied the wallet of cash which he shoved into his pocket then threw the wallet aside. Armed with a purpose, an address, a set of wheels and his switchblade, Larson was a man on a mission and he was not going to let anyone stop him.  _Next stop, Steve's._

* * *

_Residence of Mike Stone, 1973_

A seasoned detective, Lieutenant Mike Stone had seen it all but tonight was unlike any others. A sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach had nothing to do with the material damage inflicted on his property and everything to do with the most precious being in his life. He knew there and then that Jeannie's life was at stake. He had feared for her safety since finding her in head-quarters all shook up earlier that day but now he knew she was being stalked.  _No, hunted down._

"Mike?" A voice pulled Stone out of his reverie. He turned toward the police officer.

"Briles, I want a full lab crew out here  _tonight._  Turn this place inside out if you have to. It's already a mess, anyway. I'll call the captain and organize all-night patrols. That bastard is not going anywhere near my Jeannie!" Mike spoke with a passion but his voice was strained and his lips twitched as if he needed to say more but couldn't bring himself to articulate the right words.

"Don't worry Mike, we'll keep her safe," Officer Briles replied in a brave attempt at reassuring the Lieutenant before he walked away to call for a forensics team.

Mike ran his fingers over the cracked glass of the photo frame which housed a picture of Jeannie and himself. He jerked his finger back as he came into contact with a sharp edge protruding from the frame. A small droplet of blood formed on his finger and Mike stepped back from the wall. Just as he turned to make his way out of the house, a young SFPD officer came to halt before him. From his breathlessness Mike could tell he had been running.

"Lieutenant- Lieutenant Stone, Captain Olsen was on the radio. He's looking for you," gasped the rookie.

"Thanks," Mike gave the young man a slap on the arm then raced outside toward a patrol car. Another officer handed him the mike. "Rudy?"

"Mike, I've been trying to reach you since you left the office!" Olsen practically shouted into the phone from his office line.

"What do you mean? I was at the gas station at one point then I went over to a couple of the hotels along Market Street. I was wondering if the bar tenders could shed some light on where I could find Larson. It turned out all I had to do was come home!"

"What's going on Mike? I don't follow you,"

"He was  _here_ , Rudy. Larson was waiting right here for my daughter," Mike paused to swallow. He started to wonder why Rudy was had been trying to reach him.

" _What?"_

"That's right. By the way, why were you looking for me? Did you send out a back-up team? They got here within minutes after I did. What's going on?" Mike's questions rolled off his tongue as his anxiety heightened.

"Yeah I sent them. Steve called and told me someone phoned his place. Jeannie picked it up and whoever was on the other line told her he was a police officer. He said that you got shot."

"That had to have been Larson making that call! I don't know how he got Steve's number but there's a chance he found it at my place. He certainly did a good job of turning it upside down. I gotta go and call Steve. I can't imagine what Jeannie's going through right now after hearing that monster's voice." The tone in Mike's voice spoke volumes of the trepidation he felt and his need to gain some control over the situation.

"I understand. Call Steve and get him to take Jeannie to a safe house but whatever you do, I don't want you going after this creep yourself. You hear me, Mike?" Olsen directed. He knew the Lieutenant too well to know that he would do everything to find Larson - singlehandedly if need be - before he could harm Jeannie.

"Yeah I hear you, 10-4." Stone replied succinctly then ended the transmission before requesting dispatch to patch him through to Steve's telephone.

* * *

_Residence of Steve Keller, 1973_

At the first ring of the telephone Steve jumped off his perch on the arm of the sofa and Jeannie ceased her endless pacing. Neither of them made a move toward the phone on the coffee table. They stared at one another wide eyed with anxiety before a fourth ring brought Steve to his senses and he hurried over to pick up the phone.

"Steve?" the voice spoke with uncertainty through the ear piece.

"Mike!" Steve's relief at hearing his partner's voice on the other line was no understatement. He smiled at Jeannie who also caught the relief in his voice and in his eyes.

"Yeah it's me, buddy boy. Listen, I heard what happened with that maniac calling you and Jeannie picking up the phone – "

"I'm sorry about that, I should've-"

"Never mind about that now. It's not your fault. I need you to listen to me. Somehow Larson knows where I live and he has your telephone number. I don't know how but Jeannie might. She lost her handbag today when she tried to get away from him. Can you ask her if she has anything in her purse other than her college card that has our address or phone numbers?" Mike cut in in his haste for retrieving vital information.

Steve placed his hand over the mouthpiece, locked eyes with Jeannie and repeated the question as Mike instructed him to.

For a moment Jeannie was silent as she broke eye contact with Steve and searched her memory then she remembered. "My address book! Oh no, Steve, it was in my bag, I'm sure of it! It's the only place I write everyone's phone numbers and addre…oh no, he knows where Mike lives and he-he knows where you…" Jeannie's panic-stricken voice trailed off and Steve uncovered the mouthpiece.

"We have a problem. Jeannie says she had her address book in her bag when she lost it. That could explain how he knows where you live,"

"That means he has yours too! Get out of there now! Take Jeannie with you and head over to the China Basin area. On the corner of Townsend and 3rd Street you'll see a run-down hotel. Check in. I'll meet you there in about forty minutes. I'll head over your place with a patrol unit and pick up your things and Jeannie's," Mike instructed with urgency in his voice.

"Yeah I know where that is. We'll see you soon," Steve replied calmly. Inside he was far from calm but he knew he had to keep Jeannie from falling apart. Though she was like her father with a strong will and rational mind, she was still far too young to be faced with such cruelty. After hanging up the receiver, he walked over to the frightened girl, took her by the arm and gently steered her out of the living room and down the hall toward the front door.

"Steve, where are we going? What wrong? Is Mike really okay?"

"He's fine. He's going to meet up with us. We're going somewhere safe where Larson can't contact you,"

Jeannie remained silent and allowed Steve to lead the way. He fumbled with his keys as he locked the front door and inwardly cursed himself for not being steady handed in front of Jeannie who eyed him nervously. Feeling as if it were a natural thing to do, Steve took Jeannie by the hand and walked her to his car, all the while keeping a look out for an ambush.

* * *

The dark Mustang lay waiting several houses away from the departing couple who climbed into a Porsche parked at the curb. Larson watched over the dash board and smiled deviously as the Porsche's backlights shone in his eyes. He turned the key in the ignition and brought the car to life. He pulled out carefully from his parked position and started to tail the vehicle ahead of him when it pulled away from the curb and accelerated down the road. With its headlights in the off position, the Mustang hid under cover of darkness unseen by the occupants of the vehicle ahead of him.


	6. ACT III Part 2

_4_ _th_ _Street, San Francisco, 1973_

Gripping the steering wheel in both hands as he drove along 4th Street, Steve Keller had an uneasy feeling that someone was tailing him. Few cars occupied the desolate street, yet Steve saw one particular car had been travelling with them since the first time he checked his mirrors. He kept a quiet vigil and swallowed hard as he realized he had no way of contacting Mike. He didn't have a radio installed in his Porsche and he was fearful for Jeannie's safety if he were to pull over at a pay phone. His cop instincts clashed with his protective nature. He knew it wasn't too late to change directions and head toward SFPD headquarters but to do so would alert whoever was following him that they had been caught. It would only be a matter of time before they would try again. Chancing a quick glance at his watch, the young Inspector noted they still had twenty minutes to kill until the rendezvous time with his partner. The intersection cutting through Townsend Street filled his vision.

"Steve?" a soft voice broke the unnerving silence.

"We're almost there," Keller answered without taking his eyes off the road.

Jeannie Stone knew that her father's partner was on edge and she could hazard a guess from the way the young cop shifted furtive glances to his rear view mirrors that he saw what she had seen for herself.  _A black car with its headlights down is following us._  She turned to look at Steve and voiced a question she already knew the answer to, "that car's been following us for a while now. Do you think it's  _him_? Larson, I mean."

Pretending he did not hear Jeannie speaking to him, Steve looked out the driver side window and kept a look-out for the run-down hotel that Mike had mentioned.

When she could bear the stillness no longer, Jeannie raised her voice in annoyance, "Steve, did you hear me? I  _said_  - "

Steve tightened his grip on the wheel and quietly stated, "I heard what you said. I noticed the car has been following us since we left my street. The driver probably saw us leaving the house."

"It's Larson, isn't it?" Jeannie continued in the same tone denoting the anxiety and frustration she felt.

"I don't know, Jean. He doesn't have his head lights on and from where I'm sitting I can't make out a face. Just relax,"

Biting back a retort, the young brunette turned away from Steve.

"I'm not going let anyone hurt you, you know that, right?" For the first time since they left the house, Steve turned to look at his passenger.

Drawn by the compassion in his Steve's voice, Jeannie slowly turned to face him but his eyes were once again on the road ahead of him as he turned at the lights. "I know that, Steve," she replied in voice that was barely audible.

When the hotel came into view, Steve took a turn into 3rd Street and pulled over against the curb. A figure emerged from within the hotel and walked toward the Porsche. A figure Steve recognized and he immediately thanked the Heavens in a silent prayer.  _Mike_.

* * *

The drive had taken Larson down 4th Street before entering Townsend. He had been careful to keep his distance from the Porsche ahead of him but his gut told him  _Stevie boy_   _was not as stupid as his looked._

As the Porsche decreased speed turning into 3rd Street and veered toward the curb, Larson maintained his speed and drove across the intersection. Keeping the car in his sight, he casually continued driving down Townsend Street, then drove into a parking area behind the hotel. The sneer that had started to spread across his thin lips faded and his brown eyes grew darker as his gaze found two cars already parked in the secluded area. The black and white sedan sat concealed in the shadows beside a tan LTD – _an unmarked cop car_. After a brief glance through the windows it appeared both vehicles were empty. Cursing under his breath, Larson pulled out of the parking lot and continued driving down Townsend Street, contemplating his next move.  _They can't watch you forever, sugar-lips._  Larson's thoughts began to fill with lurid images of Jeannie Stone as he whistled a tune he picked up during one of his days spent in a bar. There was no doubt in his mind that he had every intention of eliminating the girl, but the more he thought about her, the more his lustful hunger yearned for satisfaction.

* * *

_Hotel on Townsend and 3_ _rd_ _, San Francisco, 1973_

Exiting the parked vehicle, Steve stepped on to the sidewalk and greeted his partner, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

"I decided to head over here first before I made my way over to your place. Did anybody follow you?"

"Yeah. A black sedan, looked like a big Ford, maybe a Mustang. The driver didn't have his lights on."

Before Mike answered, the sight of his daughter walking slowly toward them diverted his attention and he took her in his arms. Pulling away again, he smiled at her encouragingly then faced his partner once more. "Did you see where it went?"

"He drove straight ahead when I took the turn," Steve answered.

"Okay. Here's the deal. I've already checked both of you in. Here's the keys. You're in room 32, upstairs. Tanner and Lessing are inside now, checking the place out. It's late and you both had a long day. Lock the doors and get some rest. Have either of you had anything to eat?" Mike looked from Steve then to Jeannie.

"I'm not hungry," Jeannie said, shaking her head.

Mike cast a stern glance in his daughter's direction and she turned away from him. Sighing he faced his partner. "There's a Chinese take-out across the street. I'll get you something before they shut."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that," Steve replied. Though he lost his appetite hours ago, he knew he needed to keep his strength in order to do his job properly.

Mike nodded then wrapped his arm around Jeannie's slender shoulders and the three walked through the entrance of the hotel.

* * *

Larson's cruising came to an end several miles away from where he left his chase. Out of fuel, the young man abandoned the vehicle and began walking down the street back toward the hotel on the corner of Townsend and 3rd. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten that day. Scanning his surroundings he saw the red neon lights of a pizzeria at a street corner and headed towards it.

* * *

_Hotel on Townsend and 3rd, San Francisco, 1973_

The one bedroomed hotel room could be described as rudimentary in Jeannie's eyes but with Steve as company, it may as well be a fortress. She felt safe in his presence. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watched him carefully checking the windows and making sure they were securely locked. A knock on the door made her jump to her feet. Steve held out his hand, motioning for her to stand back.

"It's me," the voice of Mike Stone drew sighs of relief from both occupants of the room.

Steve slid the chain across and unlocked the door. Opening it, he was met by a warm smile.

"Brought you two kids something to eat," Mike announced and held up a brown paper bag in one hand, while he juggled two cans of soda in the other, as he entered the threshold.

"Smells good," Steve replied as he breathed in the aromatic smells of oriental spices. He closed the door behind Mike and followed him to the round table in the corner of the room, by the window.

"Chicken chow-mein. Now, sweet-heart, I know you're not hungry but you really should eat something. Just a little, okay?" Mike reasoned as he placed the bag and the drinks on the table.

Jeannie folded her arms and nodded unenthusiastically as she approached the table and took a seat.

"I have to get going. I'll come by first thing in the morning," Mike declared then kissed his daughter on the cheek.

"Be careful," Jeannie whispered with a weak smile.

"Now who's the worry-wart!" Mike grinned then straightened up and walked toward the door with Steve right behind him.

When the two men reached the door, the mood turned serious as they faced each other and conversed in low tones, out of earshot of the young woman behind them.

"Any word on the car?" Steve was first to speak.

"No. Tanner and Lessing sent two patrol units out but no sign of it."

Steve reached up and tried to rub the stiffness out of his neck.

"Lock the doors, will you, Buddy boy. I'll swing by in the morning."

Steve nodded, said good night and felt Mike rest a hand on his shoulder before departing the hotel room. Sliding the lock back into place, Steve turned and headed over to the table to join Jeannie for a late meal. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. Jeannie had already taken the contents out of the paper bag and placed a carton in front of him. She sat with her arms resting on the table and her eyes down cast.

"I hear chow-mein is not very tasty when it's cold," Steve said as he eyed the young woman before him.

Sighing, Jeannie's hand made a move for her carton.

Steve tentatively reached across the table and placed his warm hand over hers which were as cold as ice. She looked up and gazed into his eyes. An unspoken message travelled between them as they smiled before breaking the connection. Steve withdrew his hand and turned his attention to his chow-mein while Jeannie did like-wise with hers. The duo ate in silence, each finding warmth and reassurance in each other's company.


	7. ACT IV Part1

_Townsend Street, San Francisco, 1973_

Brushing his dirty blond hair out of his eyes, Cain Larson walked down Townsend Street, peering through the boarded up windows of the derelict buildings. With the hunger pangs in his belly satisfied, he had paid for a cab using the money he stole from his last victim. Leering, he found himself standing at the corner of Townsend and 3rd Street. The run-down hotel sat insignificantly across from where he stood. The Porsche was still parked at the curb just as he expected it to be.  _Soon, Sugar-lips, soon. First, you can watch me gut Pretty-boy. Then you and me are gonna have a little fun before Daddy finds your body._

Hitching his thumbs into his jeans pockets, Larson wheeled around and looked up at the abandoned building. A sign hung at the door stating it was condemned.  _Perfect._  He walked up to the decaying wooden door and gripped the rounded brass knob. Giving it a quick sharp twist the lock gave and he could hear something drop and roll on the floor on the other side. Using his shoulder he pushed against the wood and after a second shove he was inside the building. It was dark and there were no lights. Digging inside his jeans pocket he found his lighter. Closing the door behind him, Larson walked through the lobby of what looked like an old hotel. Knowing the small flickering flame was the only source of light he had, he decided to find a place to rest for the night. Somewhere, where he could watch the hotel across the street. The dim light cast its glow over a staircase. Climbing the stairs, he reached the second floor. Making a wild guess, he picked out a room and kicked in the door. He entered the musty room and headed toward the window. Tripping over a loose fold in the carpet, he felt the flame lick the tip of his finger and he dropped the lighter. Cursing, Larson bent down and recovered the item. When the flame flickered to life once more, he held it up in front of him and continued to the window. He peered through the glass which was cracked in various places. The street lights revealed the building he sought. The windows were dark telling him it was late and the occupants must be asleep. Turning away from the window, Larson's gaze travelled from one side of the room to the other. It was empty. Devoid of a bed and any other furnishings. Sighing, he realized it would be another night on the floor.  _At least the carpet might help._ He flipped the lighter, extinguishing the flame and shoved it back into his jeans pocket. The faint glow of the street lamps outside provided enough light for him to find a corner of the room to settle down for the night. Shrugging out of his jacket, Larson reached into one of the pockets and took out his switchblade then used the jacket as a pillow as he lay himself down. He placed the weapon beside him nearest to the wall and closed his eyes.

* * *

_Hotel on Townsend and 3rd, San Francisco, 1973_

For Jeannie Stone, sleep did not come easy. She lay wide awake for what seemed to her like hours but in reality time moved much slower. She could hear the clock ticking on the bedside table. Amidst the silence the sound was prominent in her ears. She rolled on to her side, turning herself away from the clock.  _When will it be morning?_

The young Inspector sat on the small sofa in the corner of the room, his head leaning to one side. He knew he would wake up with a stiff neck but he couldn't afford to get too comfortable and allow his guard to drop into deep slumber. In his mind he recounted over and over again if he had locked the door and the windows. His ears familiarized themselves with the sounds of the clock ticking and the changes in Jeannie's breathing pattern. He noted the rhythm grew steady as she finally fell asleep. He strained to listen for any noise outside of those he was well acquainted with. Just as he felt himself crossing the boundary of consciousness, a sharp gasp brought him back to wakefulness in a heart-beat. He sat up with a jolt and reached for the switch of the free standing lamp beside him. The room was bathed in its warm glow. Worry was etched on his features as his eyes found its mark. Jeannie was sitting up in bed with her head buried in her hands. He could hear her breathing hard. Jumping out of his seat, Steve hurried over to the bedside.

"Hey, it's just a bad dream," Steve said softly as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to squeeze her arm.

"Oh Steve! Hold me, please, just hold me." Jeannie took her hands away from her tear-streaked face and threw her arms around Steve's shoulders, taking the young man by surprise.  
"Shhh, easy, Jeannie. You were having a bad dream. I've got you. I've got you," Steve whispered words of comfort as he enveloped her in his embrace. He held her until he felt her relax.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart like that. It won't happen again," Jeannie moved back and wiped her face hurriedly, in an effort to hide emotions she did not want Steve to see.

"Are you okay?" Steve reached over and ran his fingers through the tangles of Jeannie's soft brown hair which covered part of her face.

Jeannie nodded and gave Steve a small smile.

"Would you like me to leave the light on?"

"Okay."

"You got it. Try to get some sleep. It's still a few hours until dawn," Steve responded then rose from the edge of the bed when a tugging sensation stopped him. He looked down and saw Jeannie had his arm in both her hands.

"Can you stay here with me until I fall asleep? Please?" Jeannie pleaded softly, her eyes locked on Steve's.

For the briefest of moments Steve stood frozen to the spot unable to move or speak. He swallowed nervously then drew a deep breath before letting it out again. What was it about Jeannie that made him feel so nervous?  _She's Mike's daughter, for crying out loud! Stop acting like she's a stranger!_  Steve berated himself before nodding in response to Jeannie's request. He felt her release his arm and scoot over to the far side of the bed. The young SFPD Inspector sat himself down beside the girl and swung his legs on to the mattress. He leaned back against the wall and before he could do anything else, Jeannie snuggled up against his side and put her arm across his waist. Not knowing what else to do, he let one of his arms encircle her shoulders while the other rested over her arm which was draped across his midsection. Safe in his strong arms, Jeannie fell into a dreamless sleep, feeling protected and at peace.

* * *

Morning arrived with the ringing of the telephone on the table. Steve picked up the phone after the first ring not wanting to wake Jeannie from her peaceful sleep.

"Good morning sleepy-head," Mike's tired voice filled Steve's ears.

"Hey Mike," Steve yawned into the receiver and rubbed his stiff neck.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Just had a terrible sleep that's all."

"Me too. I stayed at the office all night and fell asleep at my desk. Is Jeannie still asleep?"

"Yeah. She had a nightmare last night but she's sleeping soundly now." Steve shifted his gaze from the window to the bed and smiled at Jeannie's form curled up under the blankets.

"Good. I need to talk to you," Mike's tone grew dark.

"What is it?"

"There was another murder last night with the same M.O. as Arnold Hamilton's murder. You said you were followed by a dark sedan, possibly a Mustang? Well the victim did have a black two-door 71 Mustang Mach 1."

"Did?"

"Yeah, it was stolen. The owner was a kid named Jamie Fletcher. He was leaving his girlfriend's place last night when he was murdered on the driveway. He was also robbed of his first pay check at his new job. Kid was stabbed with a switchblade, only this time his throat wasn't cut. His body was found by his girlfriend, Miss Angela Winters who was in the shower at the time of the murder. She saw his body lying on the drive way some twenty minutes later when she was checking the windows," Mike continued, grimly.

Steve's first reaction was the urge to ask why Mike didn't drop in like he said he would or at least call him last night but he quickly realized it was because of Jeannie and what she would be hearing. He turned away from the bed and whispered into the mouth piece, "do you know if it was Larson?"

"The lab boys are lifting prints on the wallet but you can bet my money is on Larson alright," Mike replied with a heavy sigh.

Steve let out a harsh curse under his breath, which was caught by Mike on the other line.

"If you have to put it that way, I hope Jeannie  _is_  asleep, Buddy Boy!" Mike reprimanded.

"Sorry. Look I better let you go; I think she's waking up. When do you think you'll be coming around? I could use a shower and some coffee."

"I'll be over in an hour or so. I'm just waiting for the lab boys to give me a call. I'll pick up Jeannie's travel bag and some of your things from your place on my way over. I'll get you some coffee too."

"Thanks," Steve ended the call and turned to the stirring young woman on the bed. "Morning," he said with a small smile forming on his lips as he walked over to the foot of the bed. "I hope I didn't wake you."

Jeannie shook her head and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Was that Mike?" she asked, her voice croaky from sleep.

"Yeah. He's coming around soon to drop off our things and bring some coffee. Did you sleep okay? Any more bad dreams?"

"I slept much better with you by my side. No more bad dreams," Jeannie replied in a small voice as she pushed her dishevelled hair behind her ears with her fingers.

"Glad to hear you didn't have any more bad dreams. I'd offer you breakfast but there's nothing edible in the fridge," Steve gave a small laugh.

"I guess I'll wait for coffee," Jeannie smiled then pushed the blankets off and climbed out of bed.

Steve returned the smile with a grin before turning away and heading for the window. He'd never tell Jeannie but spending the night by her side and watching her sleep left a mark inside him. He couldn't quite place what it was or why but the thought of holding her close to him and keeping her safe from harm felt almost alien to him yet at the same time it was also deeply comforting. He forced the thought out of his mind and gazed out into the street which was bathed by the morning glow of sunlight.

* * *

Running his fore-finger over the photo of a young college girl, Larson licked his lips then smirked to himself.  _Soon, sugar-lips. You and me are gonna dance._ Scrambling to his feet, the man shoved the identification card into the back pocket of his filthy jeans. He walked over to the window and stood to one side. He cast careful a glance and saw movement behind the curtains of the window facing him in the hotel across the street.  _Lover boy's awake._ His features taking on a dark look, Larson moved away from the window and leaned against the wall, his mind busily conjuring up unlawful ideas. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take him to places where Jeannie Stone's life would end by his hand.

* * *

Jeannie slapped the palm of her hand against the side of the television set in a last ditch to bring it to life.  _Nothing._ Letting a heavy sigh of frustration, she straightened up and crossed her arms across her chest. A chuckle caused her to twist her body around. There stood Steve behind her, shaking his head in amusement.

"No coffee. No TV," Jeannie unfolded her arms and began to pace. "It's been over an hour since Mike called. Why isn't he here yet?"

"He's probably just running late. The guys at the lab aren't ones for punctuality. Relax." Steve replied in a calm voice as he walked over to Jeannie and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders to stop her pacing ritual. He waited until she looked up into his eyes and nodded. A small smile touched her lips.  _How does he do that?_ Jeannie silently wondered how it was that Steve was able to reassure her just by looking into her eyes. The silent connection was once again comforting.

"Hey, I wonder if that thing works?" Steve suddenly pondered aloud. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an old radio on the table. He let go of Jeannie then made a beeline for the table. He could feel her curious stare on his back and he smiled to himself. After switching it on and fiddling around with the dial, the radio blared to life. The distinct and up-beat tune of Alice Cooper's  _School's Out,_ hit their ears. With a mischievous grin, Steve spun around and began strumming an air guitar. Jeannie's eyes widened then she started to laugh and clapped her hands to the beat. Before they realized what they were doing, the duo began to move with the beat and Jeannie sang along with the chorus. The young Inspector took Jeannie in his arms and spun her around toward the centre of the room. Laughing and dancing, they were oblivious to the footsteps, out in the hall way, approaching their hotel room. Tripping over Steve's foot, Jeannie fell forward against his chest. Out of reflex, Steve wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him. Jeannie lifted her head slowly off his soft, check shirt and looked up into his smiling face. Her deep blue eyes sparkled and they were all Steve could see as he felt himself drown in their depths. He lowered his head until their faces were barely an inch apart from each other's. Even though, Jeannie was no longer leaning her head against him, she could still hear Steve's heart beating, a strong and fast rhythm as her lips touched his - ever so lightly like a brush of a feather.

* * *

Mike Stone could hear the sound of music issuing from the hotel room that his daughter was staying in with his partner, from half way down the hall. His frown deepened when he reached the door and knocked several times, yet no one answered. He tried to open the door but it was locked, as he expected it to be. "Steve? Steve, it's Mike! Open up, Buddy Boy!"  _Why isn't Steve answering the door?_  Worry etched his lined features and he dropped the travel bag beside him. Swallowing hard, Mike pulled out his .38 from its leather holster and took a step back.

* * *

A part of him knew he shouldn't be acting what his heart was telling him to, but another part of Steve refused to co-operate. As the music reached its climax and the tune faded away, a loud crash caused both Steve and Jeannie to break apart in alarm. Their heads whipped to the side toward the source of the cacophony. They stood, flabbergasted, as if caught in the act of a shameful deed. Steve pulled his arms away from around Jeannie and stepped back, echoing her thoughts.

_Mike._


	8. ACT IV: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank everyone for reading and for your patience with the irregular updates. Hope you still continue to enjoy my story. Happy Mother's Day to all the mums who are celebrating this day today :-)

Mike was astounded, disappointed and at a loss for words. He didn't know what to make of the tableau in front of him as he placed one foot over the threshold followed by the other; his grey eyes never leaving the two most important people in his life – his daughter and the young man who, over the years, had become the closest thing he had to a son.

"Mike, I didn't…" Steve was first to speak but the older man cut him off.

"I think you and I need to talk, Buddy Boy." Mike's stern voice was spoken with a calmness that belied his true feelings. He stowed his pistol away in his holster and gestured for Steve to follow him out of the hotel room.

"It's not what you think…"

" _Outside!_ " Mike's harsh tone left no room for further arguments. He turned around and started for the doorway, when Jeannie's voice stopped him.

"Mike, whatever you have to say, you can say it here! I'm not a child anymore!"

"Of course you're not," Mike sighed then continued, his back still facing the room, "but what I have to say to my partner doesn't concern you." The hurt behind his words caused his voice to crack and without looking to see if Steve was following him, Mike headed out into the hall. He removed his hat and held it by the rim, between trembling fingers. This can't be happening. Not now! As a father, the sole responsibility to protect his daughter weighed heavily on his shoulders. As a cop, he felt duty-bound to keep Jeannie and Steve both safe.

"Mike, I'm so sorry," Steve struggled to voice his apology as he closed the door behind him and stood facing his partner. What made him feel most guilty was not what actually transpired in the hotel room prior to Mike's arrival, but what Mike had seen and the conclusions he appeared to now be drawing.

"Steve, it could have been anyone to bust into that room and neither of you would have noticed a damn thing because you were too busy…" Mike stopped as he realized his voice was rising to a crescendo. "The point is, I trusted you to keep her safe because I didn't trust myself to not let my personal feelings get in the way of my duty as a cop!" Mike continued as he finally looked up and locked eyes with Steve.

"I understand. I screwed up," Steve replied quietly as Mike's words sunk in and the full impact behind them hit him like a punch in the gut. Mike had placed his daughter in the protection of the only person in the world he could trust and he blew it.

"I'm taking you off the case, as of now. I'll see you back at the office once I get Rudy to send someone to cover for me here."

All Steve could do was nod his head in resignation and defeat. He could no longer defend himself against something that he was guilty of in the eyes of his mentor. With his head hung low, the young cop trudged down the hall and only when he was out of sight, did Mike bend down, pick up the travel bag off the floor and re-enter the hotel room.

Jeannie stood with her arms folded across her chest facing the window. She could feel her face burning with shame and anger at herself for what she allowed to happen. She could hear the rise and fall of voices followed by footsteps then silence before someone opened the door to the room and entered. Turning around, she had half hoped to see Steve. She wanted to explain her behavior and apologize for placing him in an awkward position. Seeing her father with exhaustion written all over his face and concern in his pale blue eyes, caused Jeannie to look away. She couldn't bear to see him like this and knew if she kept her gaze locked on her father's, she would fall apart. She was not going to let that happen. Though her father was always a strong man in his younger years, after her mother died, she became his pillar of strength. If he saw her break down now, the pillar would begin to crumble.

"Jeannie, I'm disappointed in you, you know that," Mike cut to the chase. He stood with his back to the door and waited for his daughter to stubbornly tell him he was way out of line.

"I know, Mike. It wasn't his fault. He was just trying to help me from worrying about you," Jeannie replied huskily, her gaze shifted to Mike's feet.

_I'm sure he was_. Mike bit his tongue from saying out loud the first thing that entered his mind, for he knew he would only be saying it out of anger. Sighing he replied, "I'm assigning someone else to watch over you."

"I don't need some stranger to babysit me, Mike! Why can't  _you_  stay here? Or is your job more important? At least Steve doesn't treat me like a case waiting to be solved! He doesn't molly coddle me like I'm a child!" Jeannie didn't know what possessed her to react the way she did but the moment the words left her mouth, she instantly wished she could take them back. Her eyes finally found Mike's. Tears ran freely down her face like molten lava.

"Do you want him to get hurt or worse, killed?" Mike countered, his temper flaring. He placed the bag on the ground by the bed and tossed his hat on the mattress.

"Of course not! Why are you asking me this?"

"Because that is exactly what's going to happen when a cop gets himself emotionally involved with his charge. He will lose focus and become careless. I just proved it before when I came barging in on you two! What would have happened if it was Larson who burst through that door?" Without waiting for Jeannie to respond, he continued, "I'll tell you what would've happened, because I've seen it before! The first thing he will do is take out the one thing that would stop him from getting to you. Steve won't be expecting it, until it's too late!" Realizing he was raising his voice in exasperation and worry, Mike took several deep breaths to calm himself. He noted that Jeannie's anger seemed to stem from his protectiveness and Mike decided to approach the matter from another angle. If she was too stubborn to see the danger she was putting her own life in, then maybe he could make her realize the danger she was putting Steve in. He knew Steve would give his life to save his daughter without hesitation and he had no doubt, she knew that too.

Realizing how right her father was, Jeannie swallowed down her pride and replied in a choked voice, "I'm sorry, Mike. I should've thought about that. But you gotta know that nothing happened between Steve and me!"

Seeing his daughter's shoulders slumped in defeat and the tears continually spilling over her eye-lashes, Mike took several paces toward her and enveloped her in his arms. "Sweet heart, I believe you and I trust Steve, but my decision still stands. I'm calling Rudy to send someone over." He lowered his voice to a whisper and said, almost to himself, "please don't cry, honey. You and Steve mean the world to me and I just don't know what I'd do if I lost either of you." Mike released Jeannie slowly and wiped the tears off her cheeks.

Jeannie stepped back and took several deep breaths to compose herself. After several moments of silence, she cleared her throat and asked softly, "Did you bring my things? I'd like to take a shower and get changed."

Nodding, Mike walked over to the bedside and picked up the travel bag then passed it into Jeannie's outstretched hand. "I'll be on the phone," He said quietly as he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over a chair. A hand rested on his arm, squeezing it gently. He turned and gave Jeannie a half-smile.

"I love you, Mike," Jeannie smiled back weakly. She walked away before Mike could find his voice to respond. _I love you too, sweet heart_.

* * *

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, San Francisco, 1973_

Steve sat behind his desk, fidgeting with a pen, his mind too preoccupied over what happened at the hotel. His head was beginning to pound fiercely and his case notes were becoming blurred. Rubbing at the stiffness in the back of his neck, he pushed himself away from his desk and got up. He picked up his empty cup and decided to get a coffee refill and something to ease the pounding in his skull.

* * *

_Abandoned Building, Townsend Street, San Francisco, 1973_

Cain Larson rubbed his eyes to clear the fuzziness as he continued to watch the hotel room across the street. He had found himself an old wooden chair and had placed it in front of the window. He sat perched on the edge of his seat.  _I'd kill for some coffee or maybe a beer._  After an eventful morning, he saw a tan car arriving and an older man hurrying into the hotel. Shortly after that, the young man who he'd seen arrive with the girl, left the building and drove off in the Porsche.  _So daddy is here and it's lover boy's que to scram._

* * *

_Hotel on Townsend and 3rd, San Francisco, 1973_

Holding the receiver in one hand, Mike loosened his tie as he waited for Olsen to return to the phone on the other line.

"Mike?"

"Yeah, Rudy, I'm still here."

"I'm sending Graham over to relieve you and watch over Jeannie. He's on his way now," Olsen explained.

"Thanks. Is Steve there?" Mike asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yeah, did you want to talk to him? He seemed a little upset. Is everything okay?"

"No, no, everything's fine. We're just all a little on edge, that's all. Can you tell him that I'm going to head over to 19th Street as soon as Graham gets here. I thought I'd question the residents in case they heard or seen anything peculiar last night. Then I'll cruise around and see if I can find the car. If Larson followed Steve and Jeannie last night, there's a good chance he's hiding out someplace close, but maybe not too close that we'll find him," Mike replied off-handedly, dismissing the notion that he was indeed concerned for Steve. He couldn't deny he was still upset over what he had walked into at the hotel.  _Of all the girls Steve had been involved with, why Jeannie? Why now, of all times?_  He knew in his heart that Steve would never intentionally hurt Jeannie and he wondered if he felt the way he did because of his fear _. Fear of what?_  Mike questioned his soul. The answer was obvious and it caused a knot to form in his gut.  _It's the fear_   _of one day facing her with the news that her husband, the father of their children and my son in-law – my partner_ _-_ _would not be coming home._ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force the thought from his already troubled mind. He ended the call with Olsen and sighed heavily. He knew he was going to have to talk with Steve and Jeannie about any romantic feelings they may have for another, but today was not the day. Not with a murderer intent on hunting down his daughter, still on the loose.

Not long after Jeannie was dressed, Mike opened the door to Inspector Scott Graham. The normally serious face broke into a rare smile as Mike greeted him.

"Good to see you, Mike," Graham shook the older man's hand.

"Like-wise, Scott. How's Christine and the baby?" Mike asked, smiling broadly as he closed the door after the Inspector.

"They're doing just fine. Little Scotty is growing bigger every day," the tall lanky cop replied, fondly.

"Good to hear. Kids grow up way too fast, if you ask me. I remember Jeannie when she could barely reach up to hold my hand. Let me introduce her to you," Mike beckoned for Jeannie to his side as he made the formal introductions. "Scott has been working with our witness protection program at SFPD for the last couple of years and is one of the best men we have," Mike elaborated proudly.

"And Mike is among the finest Lieutenants I know," Graham returned the compliment as he shook Jeannie's hand.

"Has Rudy briefed you on the case?" Mike inquired.

"Not in great detail. It sounded urgent and I came straight here after his call."

"Alright, we better sit down and I'll fill you in. You too, sweet heart." Mike led the way to the small table and the three of them took their seats.


	9. ACT V: Part 1

_SFPD, Bureau of Inspectors, 850 Bryant Street, San Francisco, 1973_

Pouring over the report on his desk, Steve stretched his arms, trying to ease the tension in his aching muscles.

"Steve?" Rudy called out as he walked out of his office and toward the Inspector's desk. "Mike could be a while. How about you head on home and get some rest. You look like you could use a few hours of sleep."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. I guess he's covering a lot of ground," Steve sighed heavily.

The SFPD Captain gave the young Inspector a pat on the back then bade him goodnight.

* * *

_Abandoned Building, Townsend Street, San Francisco, 1973_

The light had faded into darkness as the sun dipped below the horizon to be replaced by the moon and a starless night. Larson threw the empty carton of Chinese takeout across the room and opened the can of soda. After guzzling down the carbonated beverage, he crushed the can and threw it at a scurrying rodent in the corner of the room. He had taken a risk by leaving his lookout post and tending to his hunger and thirst. The young fugitive had waited some hours after the tan LTD drove away with the young woman's father, before he slipped out for a quick bite. He'd used the last of his spare change but he didn't care because after tonight he would be leaving the city for good.  _Maybe I'll hit something bigger. I could roll some rich guy. Maybe I'll take sugar lips with me for a ride and we'll hit some banks._ Larson thought deviously, a lurid smile forming on his face,  _Time to make my move while lover boy and Daddy are gone. Maybe your baby sitter would like to dance first._ Taking out his switchblade from his pocket, Cain Larson ran his thumb along knife's sharp edge, breaking the skin in the process. A stinging sensation caused his brow to furrow and he brought his thumb up to his lips. The coppery taste lingered on his tongue as he drew his thumb out of his mouth.  _I can't wait to stick this in your new watcher, sugar lips._ Rising to his feet, he slipped the blade back into the pocket of his jeans and drew out his lighter. He rolled the flint then watched the naked flame dance before he left the room and the deserted Hotel behind him.

* * *

_Hotel on Townsend and 3rd, San Francisco, 1973_

Jeannie Stone ate the last of her share of pepperoni pizza and finished her soda. Though she had been reluctant to eat anything for dinner, she had to admit that the aroma got the better of her. She also had conceded that Inspector Scott Graham was not such bad company after all. Though he appeared to be a little too wooden at first, Jeannie found the man started to relax after they got past small talk and played a game of friendly Black Jack which lasted the entire afternoon. They had sandwiches for lunch courtesy of the picnic basket his wife had packed for him and talked about family and college. It turned out that Scott knew the brother of a college friend of Jeannie's and their small talk blossomed into light friendly banter. The kind of banter that reminded her of Steve. She felt a pang of guilt and hoped that Mike didn't drill him at the office over what happened that morning between them.

"Is everything okay, Jeannie?" Graham asked as he noticed the far-away look that appeared on Jeannie's face.

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking. Nothing in particular," Jeannie waved her hand to dismiss the Inspector's concerns.

"Well, it's gotten pretty dark out there. I better do my rounds before we get too comfortable and call it a night," Graham replied with a smile that took away the intensity his features usually displayed. He stood up and started to help Jeannie clear the table when she laid a hand on his and shook her head.

"I've got it. Just come back soon, okay? I still have a score to settle with you," Jeannie winked and inclined her head toward the deck of cards laying on one corner of the bed.

"You got it, sister," Graham laughed before his manner turned to seriousness once more. He pulled out his revolver and checked the chamber was fully loaded before stowing it away again. "Lock the front door after me and do not open it until I give the word, okay?"

"Sure," Jeannie nodded, her features crestfallen at the sudden change of mood that passed between them like an invisible curtain had been drawn.

Graham made a final check of the windows in the main room and bathroom before he headed out the door. He waited until he could hear the locks were secured then he started his rounds. Mike had told him to check the rooms adjacent to theirs as they had been empty when he checked Jeannie in and to speak to the Hotel manager for any unusual guests who may have checked in to the other rooms.

* * *

After speaking with the Hotel manager, Graham was given keys to check the rooms upstairs. According to the elderly Hotel owner, business had been quiet and Jeannie was the only new person on the registrar. There were only two other guests who stayed downstairs and neither of them appeared to be suspicious characters as they had already been checked out by Mike prior to Jeannie's arrival. With no more quests expected to arrive, the Hotel manager placed a "no vacancy" sign at the front of his premises and called it a night. As he left his desk, Graham retreated back up the stairs. No one saw the shadow that lurked right outside or the gleam of a sharp object reflected off the moonlight.

* * *

Larson had no trouble jimmying locks and Hotel doors were no exception as he worked the front door until the mechanism snapped, allowing him entry. Keeping his weapon of choice held at his side, the young man flipped open the registrar book with his free hand and found the entry he was looking for. The name listed was a phoney but he knew who it was just by studying the time of the log entry. Leaving the book open on the desk, Larson quietly headed up the stairs to the next floor.

* * *

Inspector Scott Graham pulled the door shut of the last room he checked then rounded the corner to head back to the room Jeannie stayed in. He never made it around the corner completely before his body stiffened and the color drained from his features. The surprise was etched cruelly on his face as he stared into the eyes of pure evil. Opening his mouth, to utter a single word, Graham failed to produce any sound as all the oxygen was forced from his lungs. Larson! His mind screamed as he tried to extricate himself from where he stood but his legs stopped cooperating and his knees started to buckle. He wanted to reach inside his coat for his gun but his hands were gripping the sleeves of the man in front of him.

With a callous sneer, Larson yanked the blade free from his victim's body and pried the cop's fingers off the sleeve of his jacket. He watched as the life of Inspector Scott Graham ebbed away and the man crumpled to the floor.

* * *

Jeannie Stone pulled the curtains together then spun around abruptly when a scratching noise commanded her attention. Her bright blue eyes widened as she zeroed in on the door knob. Someone was trying to open the door and she was quite certain it wasn't Inspector Scott Graham. She silently prayed the lock would hold out and breathed a sigh of relief when the noises stopped and the brass knob became still. She wanted to call out to Scott but she had no idea who was outside her room. As her eyes travelled to the floor, she noticed a shadow moving through the crack underneath the door. If it was the Inspector, she wondered why hadn't he knocked and called out to her like he said he would? A chill ran up her spine and her breathing grew uneven. A knock on the door startled her and she jumped back, bumping painfully against the table behind her. The knocking grew insistent and louder but Jeannie didn't budge. The curious part of her wanted to call out to see who was at the door. Could it be the hotel manager? The more cautious part of her wanted to wait until the person introduced themselves.

* * *

Larson's patience was wearing thin and he was growing tired of knocking on the door when the girl behind it was ignoring him. This has got to be her room, I know it is! Come on, sugar lips, open up. I ain't got all night! When he could bear the endless wait no longer, Larson stepped back then threw his weight against the door. It didn't budge. He could hear a frightened cry from within and his face broke into a sneer as he rammed his shoulder into the splintering wood again.

* * *

Jeannie Stone raced to the telephone and dialled Mike's direct number. She didn't know what time it was nor did she care. All she knew for certain was that someone was trying to break in and Inspector Graham was not around, something which did not bode well. If the detective was not within earshot, where was he? Jeannie refused to let her mind form an alternate reason for her watcher's disappearing act. She couldn't bear the thought that something unimaginable had happened to the young husband and father. The line rang out and Jeannie's heart raced a marathon in her chest. Come on, Mike, where are you? She re-dialled the number but dropped the receiver as the door burst open with a crash.

"Well, well, we meet again, sugar lips. This time, you have no-where to run," Larson's drawl ended with a scathing laugh that froze Jeannie's insides and sent her heart leaping into her throat.

Stepping in front of the table, Jeannie kept her hands behind her and pulled the cord attached to the phone toward her. The phone slid slowly across the smooth surface until it met her hands. She waited, with every fibre of her being screaming for her to flee as Larson strolled casually into the room.

"What's the matter? Aren't you happy to see me?" Larson leered as he bore down on the cowering young woman.

Jeannie pressed her lips together to keep from screaming, for she knew, if anybody heard her, they'd be no match for Larson and she'd never forgive herself if anyone got hurt or worse on her account. She swallowed down her fear as her eyes caught sight of the gun in Larson's hand. Her stomach twisted into a painful knot as she saw the similarities between the revolver he held and the ones that her father and Steve always carried. It was the type of gun that cops were armed with. The same type that Inspector Scott Graham possessed on his person the last time she saw him leave the hotel room. No! Oh God, no, not him!

Seeing the fear and helplessness in Jeannie's eyes, Larson shoved the gun in the waistband of his jeans then pulled out his switchblade. No running away this time.

Jeannie held her breath as Larson moved in on her. She stayed where she was and waited until the killer was close enough to make a grab. As he reached out, Jeannie locked eyes on him then swung her right hand around and brought the telephone with her in a wild arc. The object hit Larson hard across the face, glancing off his cheekbone, and knocking him senseless. Not waiting to see the damage she had inflicted, Jeannie took off at a bolt, out the hotel room and toward the stairs.

* * *

Taken by surprise, Larson shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears then looked around to gather his bearings. With a growl followed by a string of curses, he flew out the door.

* * *

Jeannie took the stairs two at a time and fell the last few steps. Pulling herself off the floor, she continued toward the front door at a limp. Her ankle hurt and her body shook so much, she thought she'd meet the ground again.

"What's going on here?" the groggy voice of the hotel manager sounded as he peered out of his room.

"Call the police! Get help! He's after me! Please hurr…" Jeannie's terrified pleas trailed off as a shot rang out and the elderly man fell back against the door to his room, clutching his chest.

Knowing there was nothing she could do to help the injured man, Jeannie wrenched the front door open and pelted headlong out into the night. She ran right through the middle of the road in the hopes of waving down a car but the lonely stretch of Townsend Street was deserted like a ghost town.

Her lungs were burning but Jeannie didn't dare slow down until finally her ankle gave way as she rounded a bend and stumbled against a phone booth at the curb. Gasping as the pain in her ankle intensified, Jeannie dragged herself into the phone booth, pulled the quarters from her pocket then dialled Steve's home number. It was the first number that came to her and she prayed that her last hope would pick up.

* * *

_Residence of Inspector Steve Keller, 1973_

Steve had just brushed his teeth and left the bathroom when the ringing of the telephone caused him to rush for the receiver. It was far too late for a social call which meant that if Mike was on the other line, then he had something important to tell him about the case. He picked up the receiver barely after the third ring.

"Steve!" Jeannie's breathless voice gasped.

"Jeannie? What happened?" Steve was instant alert at the sound of Jeannie's frightened voice. Something bad happened.

"Steve, help me! He's after me. He killed….oh my God, Steve! He's…" Jeannie's voice ended with a short scream as a shot rang out.

"Jeannie! Jeannie?" Steve's heart skipped a beat as he listened for her voice to return but it never did. Hanging up the receiver, Steve grabbed his holster and jacket then reached for his keys on the coffee table.


End file.
